


The Slut of Ostwick Circle

by dinosaurdragon



Series: Missing Moments from TWotS [14]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Introduction, Circle of Magi, Exposition, Gen, Mentions of Underage (nothing graphic), Ostwick Circle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 07:27:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14397186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinosaurdragon/pseuds/dinosaurdragon
Summary: Driscoll Trevelyan lived a charmed life, receiving favors in exchange for...favors.





	The Slut of Ostwick Circle

**Author's Note:**

> meet driscoll! he's a dear.

When he was seven years old, Driscoll Trevelyan froze the soup his nanny was attempting to serve him—and her entire arm from where it held the bowl, too. Luckily for her, the family was in their Ostwick home at the time, and it was a simple matter to call for an Enchanter to come and ensure she didn’t need to lose the arm. She was also paid handsomely for the trouble (and to ensure she would continue to look after the youngest Trevelyan, Jewel).

Unluckily for Driscoll, the family was in their Ostwick home at the time, and it was a simple matter to call for a Templar to come and ensure he was taken to the Circle.

It was not the last time he would see his family, nor was he even the heir apparent (or the ‘spare’), but there is no child who enjoys being taken from a loving home. He cried for the entire trip to the Circle—as a noble’s son, he was granted the privilege of a carriage, and the same Enchanter who had helped his nanny accompanied him to his new home.

By his ninth birthday, the Circle really did feel like home. The Ostwick Circle was a slow-moving place that rarely witnessed any drama more troubling than the occasional (inevitable) failed Harrowing. For a young mage, it was as safe as you could hope a Circle to be.

 

When he was twelve, Driscoll walked in on two other apprentices having sex in one of the practice rooms. He knew what it was, of course; he’d had that talk with the First Enchanter alongside all the other apprentices his age at the start of the year. Still, it was a surprise to walk in on—especially when the two didn’t stop, but just grinned at him, winked, and shooed him out.

He knew that the right thing to do would be to start knocking before entering any rooms where one could have even a modicum of privacy. He tried to put the encounter from his mind, but could not manage to do so. It entranced him, haunted his dreams enough that a Desire demon tried to use it against him, tried to entice him with it.

It was such an obvious ploy; he didn’t have to think to refuse it. Still, the offer it made lingered in his mind like caramel on the tongue: wouldn’t he love to discover what was so wonderful about sex?

 

On his fourteenth birthday, he talked his way into having sex with one of the older girls, who seemed happy to show him what to do to please a girl.

 

On his fifteenth birthday, he got fucked in the bathrooms by one of the handsome young Templar recruits, and discovered how appealing that was, too.

 

By the time he turned seventeen, his ‘hobby’ was the Ostwick Circle’s worst-kept secret, but no one stopped him. This was probably because he spent as much time sleeping with the Templars as with other mages, and in doing so earned their favor, even if they mostly wished to keep him for a fucktoy. It suited him just fine. He liked the sex—and, on top of getting sex, he got people to do things for him.

An Enchanter who worked with the Trevelyan family helped him send letters to his brothers and sister. An apprentice who helped the First Enchanter to recharge the runes in some of the nobles’ homes brought him small pieces of jewelry. One of the Templar recruits would give him extra time in the baths. A middling-aged Templar brought him robes that only just adhered to the Circle’s requirements for modesty.

The Knight-Commander gave him immunity.

 

After his Harrowing, which went very well indeed, Driscoll started to get something of a nickname amongst not only those at Ostwick Circle, but also those beyond its walls who heard of his exploits. That he had no qualms with engaging in sexual activities during any and all of the outings he was allowed likely aided in this, and soon even those who did not know him knew his reputation as the Slut of Ostwick Circle.

And he was allowed out quite often indeed—the Trevelyan family enjoyed hosting parties for fellow nobles and anyone else they deemed important enough, and one of the many things the Trevelyans liked to show off was just how much influence they had in every corner it could be found—including the Circle. So, when one of their own was an apparently valued member of a Circle? Why, it was just perfect for the family!

That Driscoll managed to have great influence within the Circle himself was also seen as wonderful at first… until word of how he got it began to spread as far as his legs. Not that they’d admit to knowing who the Slut of Ostwick Circle was, or that it was Driscoll Trevelyan—not when he was able to bring the family extra enchantments, and especially not when he also happily offered his services to extend the family’s influence, too.

(General Phoebe Trevelyan, a distant enough cousin that Driscoll did not know the exact relation, very firmly disapproved, and tried to lecture him on the proper behavior of a Trevelyan more than once. He grew irritated enough with that to arrange for her to walk in on him in a three-way on some uncle’s desk, with his face buried in a noblewoman’s nethers as her husband fucked him from behind. That was his favorite position.)

It was working out as well as he could hope for, considering that he would forever be confined to the will of some Circle or another. (Oh, there was the possibility of running away and becoming an apostate, certainly, but apostates couldn’t live glamorously, and his reputation was already enough that he would have to go very far indeed to escape it. Besides, the Circle had never been terrible to _him_.)

And, sure, there was that issue with the Knight-Captain, but he got over it. She’d lied, and she’d seduced him, but he was fine. Really. He’d been young and stupid then as he wasn’t now. At least, he wasn’t so stupid anymore. He was still quite young, thank you very much.

 

When he was twenty-two, a mage destroyed the Chantry in Kirkwall and began the Mage Rebellion. He didn’t believe it could possibly be true for the first few months after—until fellow mages in Ostwick began to quietly leave and the First Enchanter called a formal gathering to make the announcement.

What this meant for Driscoll was beyond his comprehension. He had built his life on the assumption that he would never leave, that he would never have the chance. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to leave anymore; he was comfortable, and he could get anything he wanted by sleeping with the right person, by letting the right Templar do unspeakable things to his body for a night.

And now…

It had all been for nothing.

 

It took months and months for Ostwick to actually join the rest of the mages, and even then it was in stages. Driscoll first said goodbye to the apprentice who brought him jewelry, then to the Enchanter who sent his letters, then to a number of others, each taking with them something that made Ostwick Circle colder and lonelier and harder to bear.

He hadn’t hated the way he’d earned those things. He’d loved it. He loved sex. But… To have it all ripped away from him, to have it all leave him with nothing else… No one even offered to bring him along. Void, some actually threatened to force him to stay.

For all that he’d been universally used, he was not universally loved. After even the Knight-Captain and many of the other Templars had left, a letter arrived for him. Hope swelled—perhaps one of his lovers had thought to send for him, to invite him to wherever it was the free mages now stayed, perhaps they had simply been waiting until they could be sure he would be cared for and comfortable—but… no.

And yet, yes.

It was a letter inviting him away, but not from a lover, nor a friend, nor anyone he had ever met. _Vir’era Sabrae,_ it was signed. _Keeper of Clan Sabrae._ Dalish, then, and wasn’t that interesting?

He packed all he could carry and left that very night. The Knight-Commander didn’t stop him. No one did.


End file.
